


part 8.

by hdarchive



Series: Heartstrings Verse [8]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Nerd!Blaine, Skank!Kurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 16:44:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2277162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hdarchive/pseuds/hdarchive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their studying session veers far off path when Kurt gets distracted. And then Blaine officially meets Burt</p>
            </blockquote>





	part 8.

A few weeks ago and sitting on the couch this close to Blaine might have seemed insane.

But having him there, with one leg that won’t stop bouncing and his constant humming, and Kurt feels at ease.

Papers and books are spread over them and between them. He’s not entirely sure if he can handle being in his bedroom with Blaine - with Blaine so close - again. Not yet. One day. Hopefully.

He can’t handle much lately.

School was - school was - he can’t even handle _thinking_ of it. Late for every single class, sneaking out before the bell would ring.

If he didn’t have Blaine he’d be falling far behind.

If he didn’t have Blaine . . .

Blaine, who’s been bringing all Kurt’s work to his house because he knows Kurt can’t be anywhere else. Blaine, who hasn’t once implied he could be trying harder. Blaine who understands Kurt can’t even look at him in the halls at school, that Kurt has to fade into the background and make them forget. Blaine, who is just . . there.

There, next to him, with him - and a few weeks ago he wouldn’t have needed it so much.

He still kisses him. How could he not? And every touch of their lips and Kurt has to ignore the weird rhythm of his heart, the guilty sink of his stomach. How many times can you deny, lie to yourself - to him - and still have it sound true? How many times can he say he doesn’t feel it when he does?

As many times as it takes. Because he can’t.

Blaine understands it. Understands what Kurt has to do (he hopes). And he always kisses him back.

And Kurt doesn’t like to think of what that could mean.

A few weeks ago and he would have hated himself for needing it so much. And now? Now he isn’t sure.

Even if Blaine isn’t saying it, he knows he should be trying harder. It’s just difficult when there’s so many distractions. Blaine is always talking - which, he doesn’t mind. And maybe Blaine knows that - and shifting, tapping his foot against the ground to whatever song is playing in his head.

And Blaine’s phone went off an hour ago and his ringtone - he hasn’t been able to get it out of his head.

He doesn’t mean to do it. If he chose to hum it’d be to a song far better than the Pokémon _theme song_ -

If there was a real reason to despise Blaine, he’s sure that’d be it.

He doesn’t mean to do it and he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it. Humming along under his breath, pen smacking against his paper in a similar rhythm, mind everywhere but his work.

It’s catchy, and god, it clings to his brain like glue, he can’t get rid of it. _He’s going to murder Blaine -_

“Kurt.” Blaine’s foot has stopped tapping. “What are you doing?”

It’s then that the silent room catches up with him. Only his breath and his clacking pen and - oh no.

Blaine is staring at him with the widest of eyes, as if a supernatural creature had jumped in front of him. Which would honestly be more likely than this but - but here they are and -

Kurt goes still, pen dropping from his hold, spine going straight.

And getting his mouth to open and his throat to work so he can speak words is proving difficult when there’s a rush of heat straight to his face.

“Nothing,” he breathes out, twisting so he’s facing the arm of the couch. “Are you on something?”

It’s Blaine, he should know better. He should expect the couch dipping and papers fluttering as Blaine bolts upright and leans closer to him, but he doesn’t.

“Kurt,” Blaine says, urgently. And there’s an intense flare to his eyes, jaw locked hard - he looks frightening like this. Even with his bright orange bowtie pulling focus from his face, he’s sending spikes down Kurt’s _spine_. “I’ve been watching Pokémon since I was two years old.”

Kurt swallows, clamps his teeth down hard and keeps his eyes on the couch. “So?”

“ _So_ I would recognize that tune anywhere.”

Head tipped to the ceiling now, he breathes, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The couch dips again, Blaine leaning forward on his hands, gaze - or glare, Kurt doesn’t know - burning into his face and it’s so warm, he’s going to suffocate, he really, truly does despise him -

“Work, Blaine, we should focus on our -” He holds up his textbook, lets his eyes flick over to glance at him for a second, looks back.

And what he isn’t expecting is the lash of Blaine’s hand, smacking against the book, sending it to the ground with a thud.

Except he can’t exactly hear the thud when his heartbeat is pulsing in his ears and Blaine is getting closer.

“You can’t just sing that in front of me and not - and not expect -”

Blaines cuts himself off when he lunges at him. And he doesn't know what to do except let panic grip his heart in a fist and pull it down - and then Blaine is on top of him.

Papers crunch underneath his weight, the rest of the books sliding off the couch. Blaine’s chest is pushing his down, back hitting the arm rest, and the angle is awkward, Blaine must sense this, because he blindly reaches for the side of Kurt’s thigh, tugging it up so he’s laying on the couch.

With one spare second, Kurt glances up, looks into his eyes, and then feels the veins lining his body _pulse_.

A few weeks ago - and wasn’t this exactly what they were doing?

Blaine understands where Kurt’s mind has been. Understands the fence Kurt had built around himself and has stayed on his side, but fences are not walls and fences are to separate. And Kurt thinks, underneath Blaine like this, that’s okay, that’s okay.

_That’s okay, I want you in._

No, this is so much more.

He didn’t realize until now, but he’s never wanted anything more than to be under Blaine.

The second passes and Blaine’s lips are on his.

He should really, really stop expecting what Blaine is and isn’t going to do. He waits for the slow, hazy pull of his breath, but instead it’s yanked out. Blaine closes over his top lip, pulling, sucking it into his mouth, taking his every breath.

Kurt’s eyes are still open because how is this real, how is Blaine doing this, how is Blaine -

With his arms loose by his side, Blaine’s hands wrap around his wrists, pushing them up above his head.

And with Blaine’s knees on either side of him, Blaine surges down, mouth parting against his.

He’s confident that he doesn’t know what oxygen is. All he can do is stay still under Blaine, move with him, because if he tries to move against him, Blaine’s grip tightens, pushing down.

But because Blaine is Blaine, he is expecting this:

Blaine leans back, careful hold of his own weight, smile too victorious for Kurt’s liking, and says, “Admit it.”

But because Kurt is Kurt, he says back, “Admit what?” and grins.

There’s a flash in Blaine’s eyes, dark, chilling, and Kurt feels it everywhere; his stomach, his spine, everywhere . . .

When Blaine leans back down, Kurt leans up, meets him in an open kiss, and Blaine’s tongue slides against his. There’s something about feeling this part of Blaine, of having Blaine feel him, that he won’t, he can’t, he’ll never get past.

Then there’s another part to him being tugged, and it’s hot, boiling, blistering, constricting.

He thinks there’s a bomb inside of him, ticking down, and soon it’s going to blow, the timer loud in his head. And Blaine, Blaine must want it to go off because his teeth gently close down on his bottom lip, pulling, capturing, and then a full press of his lips against his.

If he could hear anything else besides Blaine’s ragged breathing and his own pulse, he’s sure he’d hear the moans he _feels_ vibrating inside of him.

And Blaine is so heavy, settled on top of him, chest to his chest, his legs squeezing around Kurt.

There is a reason he builds fences, but there’s a reason why they’re broken. There’s a person.

Kurt turns his head, breaks the kiss, a gasp for air before he chokes out, “Okay, whatever, I admit it, I guess -”

When his eyes meet Blaine’s, the darkness is a flicker in the background, and instead he’s shining, smiling at him. “ _Kurt_.”

He _despises_ him _._

Despises him especially when his mouth finds his neck. Lips over the stretched muscle, Blaine’s breath out through his nose, hot over his skin. And Kurt - jolts, body arching upwards, legs kicking out so he’s pushing himself up the couch.

As if his nerves are stars, and Blaine is making them light up with every brush of his lips.

Making them shoot through the sky with every sweep of his _tongue_.

There’s no will left in his body, there couldn’t possibly be. As if he never possessed strength, as if he never had bones, his arms go completely useless in Blaine’s grip.

And maybe before there would be a voice in the back of his mind. What are you doing?

Why him?

Stop.

But now he can’t hear it, can only focus on the endless chant of _yes_.

That night, which Kurt replays far too often in his head. Weak on top of Blaine, Blaine hard underneath him - that has nothing on this.

Blaine’s mouth moves away from him, and Kurt can’t control any sounds he’s making tonight apparently because he _whines_.

Blaine stares down at him, gaze darting from his eyes to his lips to his neck - no, not his neck, his collarbones.

And then back to his eyes, blinking, asking.

Kurt nods, quick jerks of his head, sweat forming at his temples.

One of Blaine’s hands lets go of his wrist, then his fingers curl around the collar of his shirt before yanking it down, exposing more of his neck. His usually pale skin is flushed red all the way down, and it burns even brighter when Blaine latches on.

His legs don’t know what to do, kicking and scrambling for purchase underneath Blaine.

Blaine never stops, tongue working in circles, sucking wetly.

If Blaine has taught him one lesson it’s to never expect one thing . . .

He didn’t even know his body would react to this, didn’t even know there were fireworks in his brain that hadn’t been set off yet, waiting and waiting for Blaine to find that spot on his neck.

His breath is punched out of his lungs and escapes in a moan.

His legs kick, thrash, push him further up the couch and Blaine follows him, not letting go, teeth scraping his flesh.

Kurt tilts his head back, breathes out through his mouth and then clenches his teeth hard as to not moan again but - but the twisting heat low in his gut might just force it out and -

He opens his eyes, blurry vision stretched before him, the room almost upside down. Upside down but the figure standing in the doorway is clear as day and Kurt’s insides _drop_.

His arms are too weak to push Blaine off, in fact they might be asleep with how much they’re buzzing.

Too weak but he tries, hands sliding underneath Blaine, pushing at his chest and shoving him off.

His heart almost snaps in half at the noise Blaine makes. A broken whimper as his body is torn from Kurt’s.

Even with the panic ringing through his entire system he can still focus on the way Blaine’s eyes are stuck to his lips, won’t look away, the way his body is reaching for his -

But the second Burt clears his throat Blaine jumps.

Leaps off the couch, stumbling backwards, and the noise he makes then can only be described as comical.

His mind is fogged up and his temperature is deadly but he sits up, squares his shoulders back, faces his dad and asks, “How long were you standing there?”

His dad, face red, eyes wide, says back, “A bit too long I think.”

And Blaine, who is breathing rapidly in the corner, gasps, “Sincerest apologies - I - Kurt - I -”

Shoving his glasses back up - which are clouded over, _dear god_ \- Blaine steps forward. Clearly shaking, he smiles and moves past Kurt with his hand outstretched.

“It’s a - it’s - pleasure -” Blaine tilts his head back, breathes in deep, looks back to Burt. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person, sir.”

From the couch Kurt watches as his dad stares at Blaine’s hand like it might bite him, watches as he hesitantly shakes it.

“Yeah, you too.”

Kurt - pauses. Looks between the two, one eyebrow raised. “Wait, in person?”

Trampling down the flames of panic once and for all, Kurt shifts where he’s sitting and crosses his arms. Being on the other side of somebody else’s fence, well, it’s not a feeling he likes.

Blaine looks to him, as if he’s just remembering that Kurt is there, and explains, “Oh! Your dad and I have talked on the phone. He’s been checking in from time to time.”

“Well, this is news to me,” Kurt says, though he’s not sure to who because there’s an entire conversation going on above him.

“So,” his dad says, like it’s the last thing in the world he wants to be talking about. “You guys gettin’ a lot of studying done?”

To nobody in particular, Kurt says, “- enough.”

And Blaine: “Of course, Kurt’s grades are rising exceptionally.”

His dad, with one hand gripping the back of the opposite chair tightly, jaw working, mumbles, “Isn’t that something . .”

But Blaine and his dad must have a similar brain or something, because neither of them are moving, just staring at each other, at Kurt, back to each other, as if they’re both thinking of the next thing to say with Kurt right there.

“So, kid, all this time helping Kurt here, but what about you?”

Kurt lets out a silent scream into his hand, closes his eyes. 

“What are your plans for the future?”

Creating one more official reason for Kurt to despise him, Blaine sits down on the arm of the couch and smiles at Burt.

“Oh, I’m just considering Yale at the moment.”

Into his hand: “. . . of course, _just_ Yale . . “

His dad makes that approving noise of his, like he won’t ever admit he’s happily surprised over something. “That’s a pretty big school, hey? What’s got you going there?”

Blaine crosses his legs, settles his hands into his lap, and Kurt thinks, this can’t be the first time they’re meeting each other, it can’t be.

How often do they talk on the phone?

He almost groans, screams, this entire time and his dad and his - his - and Blaine were practically exchanging wedding vows in the background.

“Oh, my dad went there, so I’m trying to follow that direction. For now.”

His dad nods at him, and this is where Kurt gets lost. What could he possibly be thinking about? What does he see when there’s this kid - in a bow tie and blue pants and a shirt with _turtles_  on it (another reason to despise him) - kissing his son and -

Dread strikes like a match against his heart. Ignites and flickers and burns - _no_.

He looks to Blaine, resists the urge to jump up and grab his arm and beg him. _Don’t leave don’t leave don’t leave me with him no -_

As if reading Kurt’s mind and planning the exact opposite, Blaine sits up, brushes his hands off his pants and clears his throat.

“Well, Burt, I’m glad we’ve officially been introduced.”

And Kurt swallows, stares wide-eyed between them because since when are they on a first name basis - ?

“But I must be going,” Blaine finishes, shaking his dad’s hand again. And then he turns to Kurt, eyes confused behind his glasses, before he says, “And Kurt, if you’re up to it, I’d recommend taking notes on chapter seventeen before tomorrow.”

Kurt stares at Blaine’s feet and manages to nod. “Okay.”

Blaine looks over his shoulder, Kurt’s gaze following his, to his dad, who very obviously turns away, hands jammed into his pockets.

And then Blaine looks back, smile spread across his face, and puts one hand on Kurt’s neck before leaning in.

Not to his lips, which are still numb of all feeling after he pushed Blaine away, but a kiss to the top of his head. Lingering for a few seconds, and Kurt closes his eyes, breathes it in, because he knows what Blaine really means about tomorrow. All this help and he’s still falling behind . .

Blaine pulls away and grabs his fallen books with a red tint to his cheeks. He turns once, smiles at Kurt, and maybe he stares for a second too long - Kurt can’t tell, he’s staring back - and says, “Have a good night, Kurt Hummel.” and with one last wave of his hand, an awkward pull on the door before he realizes it’s locked, Blaine is gone.

His dad stares at the door, confused, as if it were a unicorn who just walked through it and not Blaine.

“He does know he can just call you Kurt, right?”

With a smile that burns, a nauseating wave over his heart, Kurt mumbles, “It’s just - he has this thing. I don’t question it . . .”

And then dread has long since engulfed Kurt in flames, and he leans back into the couch, covers his eyes and sighs. He considers grabbing his books and running for his room, but his dad is already moving to stand in front of him, arms crossed.

“Please don’t,” Kurt begs, keeping his face covered.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t - don’t ask -”

“Hey,” his dad nearly barks, and then sits back on the coffee table. “A father is allowed to ask a few questions about his son every now and then, right?

“Is that in some rule book somewhere?”

“Kurt.”

“Whatever, just - hurry up.”

He waits, waits, but nothing happens. He forces his hand down to look at him, but his dad is just - sitting there, arms crossed, leg tapping against the ground.

“Dad?”

“So is he like, your boyfriend?” his dad blurts out, face reddening by the second. “Or whatever it is you kids call it nowadays?”

And even though he was expecting this he doesn’t know what to do, what to say. Kurt covers his face again, breathes through his hand, groans, “- _dad_ \- no, he’s not - he’s not my boyfriend. He’s my tutor.”

His dad doesn’t blow out his breath, doesn’t sound relieved, and when Kurt looks through his fingers at him he looks even more red.

And then: “Because that’s what tutors do -”

“Dad!”

His dad’s hands fly up, waving in front of him. “Okay, okay, fine. I get it.”

“Thank you!” Kurt snaps.

“He’s a really nice kid.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“So I guess I wouldn’t have a problem if he was, you know, more than - that.”

His insides have stopped working, stopped moving. He thinks they never will again. At least, not properly. How could he ever live the same way again after this?

“Good to know,” he mumbles, looking down at his chest. And shit - this shirt has been stretched past the point of no return.

This shirt cost more than his soul. _That is coming out of Blaine’s pay check -_

“This mean you’re gonna be back to the way you used to be?” His father’s voice is . . strange. Like a question he’s afraid to ask, doesn’t know how to ask - like he’s afraid of the answer.

“And what does that mean?”

Red-faced, eyes awkwardly on the ground - he doesn’t understand why his own father is afraid to look at him sometimes - he grumbles, “You know . . show choir and . . outfits.”

Arms now tight over his chest, Kurt slowly shakes his head, eyes squinting at him. “I’m not sure I understand your point. May I leave now?”

His dad stands, hands on his hips, looks to Kurt and then to the kitchen. “Yeah, um, good idea.”

Kurt gets up, doesn’t bother to pick up his books and makes his way to the stairs. He’s halfway up before his father holds a hand up, says, “Wait.”

Leaning over the railing, he stares at his dad, swallows down the pins of panic stabbing his throat.

“You just look, well, Kurt, you look happy. And that - that’s - good.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he smiles and nods, then finishes his trek up the stairs.

His dad, who had to witness that transition from afar. To watch Kurt’s colours fade - they’re still there, he knows it, he feels it. You can’t disappear completely. A lesson he’s learned all too well recently.

He doesn’t know what his dad must really think, but it wasn’t his dad who had to live with that feeling every single day. It wasn’t his dad who had to be afraid every single day. It was Kurt.

His dad, who didn’t yell when there was the possibility that Kurt could fail. Who made a deal with the school, setting him up with a tutor, because as much as Kurt wanted to fade, and as much as his dad didn’t (doesn’t) understand why, he had to try.

Kurt likes his colours now. He likes who he is. His dad doesn’t _know_ -

He likes who he is now. And who is he now?

He’s safe. And if his dad gets that, well, that’s all he can hope for, right?

He thinks of Blaine. He thinks of Blaine understanding, of respecting the fence - his respect for _breaking_ the fence.

There’s a difference between walls and fences and boundaries.

Kurt still holds his boundary, a border. Running straight in front of him, keeping Blaine on the other side. Keeping everyone on the other side. Because you can’t disappear completely and if he keeps that boundary in place then nobody - not even those he could want - can get him. He hopes. He hopes too much. He doesn’t know but he _hopes_ -

But that god awful Pokémon theme song, and it’s so goddamn catchy. He likes Blaine, but honestly, to what extent?

Finally, he thinks, with a smile he has no control over, that if Blaine doesn’t change his ringtone he's going to smash his phone into _pieces_. 

 


End file.
